


Capturing more than a likeness

by BWolf_20



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Creepy, Cursed Art, Disturbing Themes, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Oblivious Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-10-30 04:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10869411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BWolf_20/pseuds/BWolf_20
Summary: Steve decides to invest in some oils from a mysterious art shop and his first subject is Tony. Steve is in awe of the quality of the paints as his portrait comes to life on the canvas. Unbeknownst to Steve, it appears to be doing something rather unsettling to Tony. Just how lifelike will the painting become?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for a prompt on avengerkink. I'll link it when the fic is complete to avoid spoiling it. But basically the prompt deals with Steve purchasing some odd antique art supplies.

Steve ignored that look Tony gave him whenever he caught him coming in with a couple of thin canvases, a package of brushes, and fat tubes of paint.

“Get a good deal at the Ninety-nine cents store?”

He didn’t bother to explain that they weren’t so cheap. They were a good enough quality for the price he paid and from a good enough craft store. What did Tony know about art? Did he even know how expensive such supplies could get? He had wandered into an art supply shop. It was like stepping into a candy store. Blue eyes were lit at the display of the various types of brushes. The many tubes of hues were beautiful. The rolls of canvas felt divine to the touch. But once his eyes caught sight of the price tag, he had turned and walked out with a hanging head.

Sure he could’ve gone to Tony and borrowed. The man was willing to pay for a lot of things, particularly the comfort of his teammates. An artistic hobby counted as a comfort and he had offered, with the inclusion of snark, to purchase those hundred dollar supplies. Still, Steve didn’t want to allow it if he could help it, so he never did. Whatever he had in his pockets, that was as much as he could spend. Tony would remind him that he didn’t get it and sometimes Steve would insist it’s not about the money and what he bought was good enough.

He drew more than he painted anyways. Sketched to practice. 

“You should let him buy the hell out of that art store,” Clint had said when he stopped to watch him sketch the classic bowl of fruit. “Seriously Steve, get yourself some Rembrandts, a real palette. You’re too good not to have them.”

Steve had smirked and decided then he rather liked the idea of using those paints to create a more interesting image.

When he wasn’t knocking aside some supernatural enemy, he was sparing some time to become more acquainted with the human form. He had made time for art galleries and seeing so many portraits made him want to do one as of late. 

“At least take some classes. What is that, a hand or five dicks?”

“Shut-up Tony.”

He did end up letting Tony pay for his classes; classes that were specific on the human form, and he was quite pleased to have gotten a better handle at drawing faces and hands. When the classes progressed, he found himself coming home blushing.

“Can’t handle the female form?” Natasha had teased, catching his embarrassment.

“I can handle it just fine…it’s just…without clothing…” He trailed off after that and avoided Clint and Tony’s demands to see his “porno” drawings.

Eventually he did turn to his teammates for the subject matter. Clint and Natasha were happy to oblige him. The results did look pretty accurate to the life models. Tony claimed to be too busy to pose and insisted he’d do a sitting once he stepped up to painting his subjects, and with decent paints. Bruce was too shy, but his compliments were always endearing.

“I’ll be happy to attend your showing, so long as there’s not a portrait of me in it.”

But Steve did go back to paints, this time with people in the scenes, and while they were good he didn’t find as much satisfaction with them. He reasoned it was because of his main issue of not having high quality tools. Oils could give them a good richness, make them more lifelike and classic. Not that he didn’t like other mediums, but he did fancy the oils. And all he needed to do to get those fancy oils, was to ask for the money.

He didn’t ask for the money. Instead he collected coupons or shopped on sale days. 

When he found that several of the bristles had fallen out of his brushes, when he was out of the colors needed for flesh tones, and there were no more canvases in the corner of his room, he set out. It had been a while since he had to restock, so as he rounded his usual block he noticed a new little shop wedged between a laundry and a bakery. 

It was dusty and grey and didn’t draw much notice, yet Steve noticed because of the display of frames and antiques in the window, and what appeared to be some high quality paintings hung on the walls inside. So naturally, he stepped inside.


	2. Chapter 2

Once inside, Steve noticed a nice collection of old fashioned clocks, lots of pottery, old fashioned lamps, dishes, dressers, etc. Just looking at it made him feel nostalgic. Then he raised his eyes to the group of paintings he’d seen and marched over. 

Many of them were portraits, some included full figures, and two featured animals. It was clear they were oils and quite vibrant. The skills to produce them left him in awe. The artist, or artists, were able to capture what felt like the true spirit of the subjects depicted. And when his eyes moved from one to the other, he came to recognize the feeling that the subjects were really looking back at him. He was certain if he walked about he’d get the feeling of being watched.

“Something I can do for you?”

Steve jumped and turned to see an old man, giving him a toothy grin. 

“Oh, uh, I was just passing by and noticed your shop. And those paintings.”

The old man looked up looking pleased.

“Yes, yes I’ve amassed a nice collection of them. Are you an artist yourself?”

“Well, I do sketch occasionally, and I have started painting, portraits.” He just never fully labeled himself as an artist. He was certain he needed more practice before he could. “Never produced anything like those paintings.”

“And you won’t with just any old paints or brushes or canvases no matter where you get them. That quality can only come from here. Let me show you.”

He was led to a single aisle shelved with a few artists’ sets that, according to the label below, contained the palette, ten brushes, up to twenty oils, brush cleaners, and a few charcoal pencils. Next to the sets were frames and a few stacks of canvases. The sight brought to mind his budget.

“Wish I could, but I haven’t been able to afford oils. I’m lucky I was even able to get an easel.” 

He didn’t mention that he could, if he just went to Tony and borrowed.

“No trouble young man, no trouble. I’ll take ten and that’s including a nice roll of canvas, and the frame.”

Before he knew it, the old man had piled the canvas and frame and set into his hands. Steve shook his head.

“No, I can’t, that’s too low, and for all of this?”

“You want oils don’t you, and if you want your work to look like that, you’ll need this set. That’s how the artists were able to achieve it.”

Steve looked at the set, but there wasn’t even a name on it. It was just a dark wooden case with a few stars carved on top. 

“You won’t find a better deal, but leave now I just might put on a hundred dollar price tag.”

Steve didn’t bother to seek out a better deal, so without thinking heavily on it he purchased the items. As he set them on the counter, the man pulled out a hidden black tub marked prime.

“Gesso for the canvas. Be sure to use this and only this with that canvas. As a matter of fact it’s best not to go mixing and matching other brands with this set, otherwise expect low quality.”

“Right.”

“I’d be very interested to see your work afterwards.”

Steve smiled as the request reminded him of Bruce’s compliment.

“Maybe a lot of people will get to see, if I can get a show going. Thanks.”

“Oh, and one more thing.” 

Steve paused as the man reached under the counter and pulled out a small jar which he slapped in his hand.

“When your painting is complete, be sure to coat it with this, so it’s sealed, and protected for all time." 

Steve stared at the jar curiously.

"Happy painting.”


	3. Chapter 3

When Steve returned home he eagerly set to work on stretching out the canvas over the frame. He was feeling positive, yet pessimistic. Who’s to say it really made a difference what paints and which brands he used? It wasn’t as if he thought his work was low quality, but seeing such works in the shop had ignited an interest to do better. Either way, the supplies had only cost him ten bucks, so all in all he didn’t see much of a loss. 

“Too bad Legolas and the itsy bitsy spider aren’t around. Guess you’ll have to go back to painting fruit.”

Steve frowned and leaned back in the couch feeling restless. Clint and Natasha had been good and willing subjects for his art, but they had been scheduled for a mission by the time he was ready to try his new supplies. 

“Sucks for me…unless.”

“Unless what?” Tony asked, quirking a brow.

“Unless you, well, sit for me.” 

He looked at the billionaire hopefully.

“Jesus cap, you that hard up for a subject?”

“Well you did say you’d pose if I stepped it up to paints.” He could see Tony looking reluctant to give in, but Steve pressed a little further. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t want a huge portrait of yourself hanging over a mantel? Isn’t that a staple of rich guys?”

Tony just rolled his eyes.

“That’s too old fashioned for me. But, since you’re begging and pouting…why the hell not. Or maybe I should ask how much before agreeing.”

“No charge. Besides I just want to get a handle on my new oils.”

“Oh finally cashed out for top quality huh? Oils? Well how can I turn down the opportunity to be painted in oils. If it had been watercolors, I’d have to say no. Then again, you could totally screw me up.”

Steve shook his head and smiled.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you look good. Promise.”

 

Steve had it all set up in the room Tony had given him as an art studio. The canvas was set up on the easel ready for primer. He worked the gesso smoothly across the fabric, finding it quite calming. When the canvas was fully coated, it seemed to shine. 

While it was drying, he opened the dark art case on a table and set out the palette. He pulled out the ten brushes one by one and set them in a brush holder. He took out the brush cleaners and charcoal pencils and sat them nearby. The only thing left in the case now was the twenty oils which he couldn’t help staring at.

Feeling eager, he grabbed a tube of Cadmium red and a brush and just tested the shade with a stroke of color on a cut piece of canvas. It was a nice shade, but not as vibrant as what he’d seen in the store. He supposed it made a difference if he painted on a primed surface and sealed it afterwards.

He shrugged it off and decided to break for lunch. He turned away, completely missing the slight glow that the red appeared to give.

About an hour or two later, Steve returned to the studio to see Tony fingering through his oils.

“You weren’t lying. You really did get them.”

“And for a good price.”

“Yeah, how much?”

Steve ignored the question in favor of setting up a chair.

“It’s not about the money, but if you must know the guy gave it to me for ten bucks.”

“So cheap oils are the step up. You know I’m not so sure I want my beautiful face captured in cheapness.”

Tony just folded his arms looking offended and Steve found himself getting just a little annoyed.

“Don’t worry. The paintings in the store I bought them from used the same paints, and they didn’t look cheap to me. But if you don’t want your giant portrait, I guess I could try Bruce again.”

The man tethered uncertainly on the spot before marching over and taking a seat.

“Just so long as you at least capture my likeness.” 

“Believe me that’s all I want to do.”

After getting Tony situated in a desired sitting position, he began. He picked up a charcoal pencil and started with a light drawing of an oval for the head.

“Wait wait, aren't you gonna start with the paints?”

“Tony, are you gonna be a hard-case?”

“You mean hard ass? Maybe, if I find I’m not pleased with your great work.”

Steve sighed and shook his head. 

“Just please, sit there and for once stay quiet, even though I know for you, being quiet is a challenge.”

“Funny capsicle. I should quote you.”

Steve rolled his eyes and just willed patience as he continued the first step in drawing out his subject.


	4. Chapter 4

Further into the drawing, Tony had mentioned that he should’ve chosen to depict him in his Iron man suit and asked if it was too late to change. Steve shook his head at the request.

“Call me old fashioned but capturing you in a suit and tie is better suited for a portrait than what I can get on a poster.” 

“Guess I better be grateful I didn’t have to wear a tux for this. But I think you should reconsider.”

“And I think you should close your mouth.”

Aside from the fact that he felt the Iron man suit might not look very classy in a portrait, it was a complicated piece to portray. Already he considered Tony a hard subject and he didn’t want to make it harder. So he kept Tony in a simple pose, slightly sideways on the chair with his hands on his lap. Tony had vouched for a depiction showing a middle finger and when Steve saw it raised his way he stopped drawing and refused to continue until he cooperated again. 

Tony’s little antics made him reconsider the whole thing at times, but he reminded himself that his best subjects weren’t available, and he had already sketched out Tony’s round eyes so nicely, so he kept going. 

Soon a rough depiction was drawn out nice and full across the canvas.

“Do I at least get to choose a background? I don’t want any of that crappy gray in photo studios.”

“Tell you what, I’ll surprise you,” Steve informed him with a sigh. 

“Don’t surprise me with anything red, white, and blue.”

Steve shook his head and moved onto what he’d been eager to get to all day—the paints.

He started the way he usually did squeezing out some of the colors, this time on a palette. He selected a brush and began. He chose to begin light strokes on the suit with a charcoal grey figuring the clothing would be best to start with for a beginner in oils.

“Can I at least get up and stretch my legs?”

“Sitting there too much for you? Come on Tony.”

“Well at least hurry it up.”

Steve tossed him a glare.

“There’s no rushing art. Just, bear with me.”

“Like I’ve had to do ever since I met you.”

Steve suppressed a groan and just continued working on the clothing. He kept going until he felt he had a good handle on the brush and paint. He found it wasn’t anything to be afraid of. The brushstrokes flowed smoothly and color landed exactly where he wanted it. 

With a known range of how to begin flesh tones, he started mixing a few hues together. When he had the color he wanted, he raised a new brush up to the cheek and made a stroke. At the same time, Tony made a surprised gasp. Steve stopped and glanced over at him.

“You alright?”

Tony’s eyes were furrowed and he appeared a little bewildered.

“Ah, yeah, just felt a little chill I guess.”

“Gotta keep it ventilated in here with these oils.”

“Yeah, don’t mind me. Keep going.” 

He dropped his confused expression in favor of one that was neutral for his portrait. Steve just went back to filling in the face, not noticing the slight twitches occurring in the face of the real Tony. He just made long and short strokes, laying the paint on thinly. Afterwards he moved onto the hands. The real Tony twitched a hand in response when the brush had touched the canvas.

“Try to stay still.”

“Yes, Da Vinci,” Tony mocked. His hands trembled ever so slightly while Steve painted the sketch version.

By the time two hours had hit, He had much of Tony filled out against a white background. Steve smiled at the work so far. 

“Is it…can we, take a break now?”

Steve looked around at the clock.

“Yeah I guess we have been at it a little long.”

Tony rose to his feet on legs that were shaky. Slowly he made his way toward the canvas.

“Let me see, if, progress was made.”

Steve stepped aside.

“It’s just a first coating, but I think it’s progress.”

But Tony didn’t say anything. He merely stood still and stared at it silently. Then as silently as he observed it, he turned and left the room.

“Tony?”

“Just…need a break…capsicle.”

Steve shrugged it off and turned to the canvas, feeling quite proud of the work so far.


	5. Chapter 5

“Ready to go again?” Steve asked as he readied himself to continue. He looked around after receiving no response and noticed Tony still standing in the doorway. 

“Ah, Tony, you okay?”

He was slow to meet his eyes.

“Yeah…sure, why wouldn’t I…be?”

“Good, let’s keep going.”

Tony slowly moved across the room and plopped back down in the chair. Automatically he resumed the same position in the canvas without Steve needing to remind him. 

Steve went back at it, adding a second layer of grey to the suit, mixed with a bit of blue to keep it from appearing flat. When he’d gotten it to how he wanted it, along with forming a red tie, he moved back to the fleshy parts.

Once again when the brush touched the drawn version of Tony’s cheek, the real Tony flinched and his eyes widened briefly before softening back to normal. Steve hummed lightly as he painted another layer to the face. By the time he had added another layer to the hands, Tony had practically become a statue in the chair.

Steve moved up to start the eyes, painting lightly then darkening the shades. Tony didn’t so much as blink. He simply stared forward as if in some kind of trance, but Steve didn’t notice the oddness of it.

“You’re doing great Tony.”

The billionaire didn’t respond. He made a struggling motion and opened his mouth but no sound issued. 

“I appreciate this. I know it’s time consuming, but really, thanks.”

Steve kept going, his confidence continuing to build the more he painted. He got to a point where he could work in the finer details of the skin. Tony didn’t speak the entire time.

About four hours in, Steve stepped back and admired the work.

“I think I’ll start building up the background now. You can take a break.” He looked around at the clock and gasped. “Oh it’s later than I thought. I’m sorry Tony I didn’t realize. Tony?”

Tony kept mimicking the still image. Steve stared then took a step forward, concerned. The man didn’t even appear to be breathing and there was an eerie vacant look about his face.

“Tony?”

It wasn’t until he was very close did Tony stiffly turn his head and raised his eyes.

“Hmm?”

“You okay? You seem, out of it. Guess it’s cause I kept you here too long. Sorry I wasn’t paying attention.”

Tony stared at him blankly for a minute before working his jaw.

“Ah…s’okay. I’m…I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah…how’s it…look?”

“Great so far, but I’d like the rest to be a surprise. Go ahead and rest up. I want to keep working.”

Tony gave a mechanical nod before slowly rising to his feet on shaky legs. This time they shook so badly he stumbled and Steve had to catch him. 

“Tony.”

“Sorry…sat too, long.”

“Well then it’s good we didn’t go longer. Go on, I’ll take it from here.”

Quietly Tony made his way out of the studio, shuffling with a bizarre mechanical movement. Steve turned back to the painting and set to work on the background.

 

For a couple of days Steve kept at it. He lightly sketched a simple set up for the background, then immediately went to work letting the brushes form a nice three dimensional scene. Tony spent much of his time dozing, and when he wasn’t he was seated somewhere quietly and with a vacant look unless JARVIS or Steve alerted him. Steve was so absorbed in painting he barely registered how pale Tony was becoming. His movements were stiffer than ever and his mind worked sluggishly.

“Are you sure you’re alright sir? I’ve detected nothing abnormal in your vitals yet you appear to be ill.”

Tony didn’t acknowledge the concerned voice of his A.I at first. Instead he was standing in the middle of the room staring ahead blankly.

“Sir?”

“Huh? Oh…JARVIS…I’m fine. How’s Steve’s…masterpiece?”

“Coming along well, but he has forbidden me from informing you with the details.”

Tony just gave a nod and slowly sat. 

“Feel…numb,” he muttered sleepily before drifting off into a quiet slumber.

Steve did call Tony back in for another sitting so he could properly depict shadows and light across his features. Once again Tony was a statue in the seat, and Steve was oblivious to the slow draining of color from the billionaire’s face. Steve was much more invested in the growing vibrancy happening to the painted version of the billionaire on the canvas.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve sighed and stepped back with a big smile. Before him was the completed painting on the easel. After continuing his work during much of the night it was finally done. Billionaire Tony Stark was captured quite accurately on the canvas. Every little feature from the bold, round eyes to the infamous goatee was depicted. Nothing appeared to be misshaped or too long or too short. Fingers looked like fingers and ears looked like ears. 

The oils did have a nice shine when it had all come together, yet he didn’t find it as vibrant as the paintings in the store. Still he was quite proud of the piece and was certain Tony would be as well. 

He moved to the table and picked up the little jar of the sealant he was to use once it was complete. He stared at it, then looked up at the canvas. For some reason, he couldn’t help staring into the eyes. He didn’t know what it was, but for some reason he felt a weird sense of foreboding. Regardless he unscrewed the top, and dipped a large flat brush into it. The liquid was clear.

Steve approached the canvas, lifted the brush, and was just about to begin a stroke when he was interrupted.

“Mr. Rogers, Sir, I believe, is attempting to request you,” JARVIS suddenly said.

“Ah, attempting?”

“Yes sir. He pointed at your image on his phone but didn’t speak.”

“Is he okay?”

“He appears to be a little pale, but nothing shows he is in poor health.”

Steve furrowed his brow then stepped away from the canvas, setting the jar aside.

“Alright, I’ll go see what’s up.”

He left the studio, making his way towards Tony’s room when JARVIS interrupted him again.

“Mr. Rogers, Ms. Romanov and Mr. Barton have just arrived.”

The announcement brought a smile to his face and caused him to do a complete turnaround in the direction of the arriving assassins. They smiled and embraced him in greeting. 

“So, how’s the painting going?” Natasha asked.

Steve wasn’t expecting the question since he hadn’t had contact with them since they departed. 

“How did you know?”

“Tony,” Clint answered simply. “He called us up and told us you were doing a terrible job capturing him.”

Clint finished with a chuckle at Tony’s snark, but Steve hadn’t found it so funny. 

“Would it have killed him to keep quiet,” Steve groaned.

“Stark has a thing for spoiling surprises. But never mind, let’s see it.”

Feeling annoyance with Tony, Steve happily led the two back to the studio. 

Natasha and Clint stood back as Steve turned the easel toward them.

“You finished it.”

“Yeah,” he said as he grinned back at her. “Took me about a week.”

“Looks like him alright,” Clint agreed as he stepped closer. “This is what Tony meant by a terrible job?”

“He hasn’t seen it completed yet. I just gotta do one more thing, then it’s ready.”

Steve turned the canvas back, then picked up the jar of sealant and the brush. This time the brush made contact and he made long stroke down the canvas.

“What’s that for?” Clint asked.

“Keeps it protected.”

Steve continued, making sweeping strokes up and down the canvas. The sealant didn’t smudge or alter the oils at all. As he brushed, the strange foreboding feeling that was upon him only increased. He chose to ignore it, deciding the feeling was stemming from how Tony would react to the work. He knew Tony had just been kidding when he told Natasha and Clint about it, yet Steve couldn’t help feeling the slight worry that Tony might not appreciate it. 

But he wondered if it mattered. He liked it, in fact he was proud of it, and if Tony didn’t want it over his mantel, well Steve was fine with keeping it for himself.

Steve made once last sweep, noting the difference when it was unsealed. The painting appeared to have a glow or a liveliness about it now.

“There. All done. Now just gotta let it dry.” He stood back again, smiling.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your work. But something appears to be wrong with sir,” said JARVIS. 

“What’s happened?”

“Sir appears to have fallen unconscious, and I cannot awaken him.”


	7. Chapter 7

_Pepper didn’t understand why Steve had resented his own work so; why his reaction was a mix of revulsion and sorrow. The painting was quite beautiful and so realistic it was almost scary. He was depicted seated, facing slightly to his right with his hands placed atop his knee. There was a devilish kind of smile that just said Stark. In the background was an impression of his lab. It wasn’t finely detailed with tools or computers or bots, but it was clear it was Tony’s preferred environment._

_Pepper was amazed by Steve’s talent at capturing the subject so perfectly, as were any business associates and friends who dropped by and took notice. It wasn’t hard to miss with it being so large and hanging over the mantle._

_Everyone admired it._

_It was so vibrant, so lifelike, so Tony._

_It was such an amazing piece of work that everyone wanted to meet the artist, but by now Steve had distanced himself from it and practically everyone._

_When she thought about it, she could understand why. The painting had been completed on that terrible day that still unnerved and saddened her._

_Whenever she thought about it, she had to take a seat and breathe for a moment._

 

“Tony?”

Steve had been expecting a snarky remark for the way he barged into the room, but right away he saw it wasn’t possible. Tony was lying face up in bed, eyes closed in what seemed a troubled sleep, and his skin was a white as a sheet.   
For a second, all he, Clint, and Natasha could do was stare.

“What happened?” Natasha asked once Steve hurried over. “Has he been sick?”

“No, all he’s been doing is the usual, and posing for me.”

Steve opened an eyelid and saw an eye staring blankly forward. There didn’t seem to be a spark of light in them.

“He can’t be dead,” Clint insisted.

“He’s not, he’s breathing…I thinkg…JARVIS!”

“Already contacting emergency assistance Mr. Rogers.”

Steve grabbed one of Tony’s hands. It was cold and stiff to the touch. 

“Tony.”

He could not understand what had gone wrong. The man had been fine. He’d been his usual stubborn, snarky self all week. Sure he noticed he started looking a bit tired toward the end, which was why Steve made sure to keep better track of time so Tony wouldn’t have to pose too long. But he was certain it couldn’t lead to what was happening now.

“JARVIS why is this happening? What’s wrong with him?”

“I'm afraid I have no answers.”

 

An hour later found the team still sitting in the waiting area of the nearest hospital, awaiting the conclusion of tests and any answers for a reason and cure. So far it was proclaimed that Tony had slipped into a coma for no reason. 

Steve sat hunched over, running a shaky hand through his hair several times. He couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow he was responsible and he couldn’t figure out how. 

“Steve?”

He raised his worry filled eyes to meet Natasha’s.

“He was fine,” he whispered. “Fine…and now he’s…it doesn’t make any sense.”

“He’ll be alright,” Clint said. “And when he wakes up, you can show him the portrait. That’ll make him feel a hell of a lot better.”

Right now Steve didn’t want to think about the art. His stomach was in painful knots.

“Yeah."

Soon enough two of the doctors reappeared. Steve was on his feet immediately, not liking the grave look on the men’s faces.

“I'm afraid it's as we thought. Mr. Stark has fallen into a coma.” 

They were all momentarily stunned, and their faces quickly dropped.

“But how? How, he was fine!”

“That’s what we cannot determine,” said the second doctor. “We ran several tests, but we were unable to find a cause for it.”

“He's shown to be quite healthy. It's, unusual. It's almost as if he's not in a simple coma.”

"What do you mean?"

The doctors exchanged fearful looks before answering.

"It's as if he's more dead than in a state of deep unconsciousness."

No one knew what to say. Steve felt like the bottom of his stomach had just dropped to the floor. He tried to speak, but no words came out.

“So, what happens now?” Clint asked for him.

“At the moment, we are still trying to determine a solution. For now, the best I can suggest is to gather his friends and family together.”

“Why?” Steve asked in a trembling voice.

The doctor sighed before replying. 

“Because, it doesn’t look as if Mr. Stark will ever wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to review!


	8. Chapter 8

Steve left the contacting of friends for Tony to the rest of the team. All he could do was sit quietly, repeatedly going over the possible reasons of why Tony was lying in a hospital practically dead, and still there was something telling him it was somehow his fault.

“That’s crazy talk,” Natasha had said. “It was not your fault.”

“Maybe I had him sit for too long when posing. Maybe it added stress or…something.”

“Having Stark sit for several hours wouldn’t cause him to fall into a coma.”

The belief became that Tony was responsible. The man was known for not taking care of himself. Pepper sent his medical records to the doctors, but they were still unable to find the cause. The belief then shifted to the idea that Tony had just been unlucky. 

Steve put it all aside as the guilt continued to eat away at him.

Eventually he did return to his studio where the painting still stood on the easel. He stood staring at it before getting a chair and seating himself before it. The work did have the same vibrancy as the works in the art store, but such a sight only angered and pained him.

He found himself staring into the painted brown eyes of Tony and swore they were truly staring back at him.

“Tony…what happened?” he muttered. He had the same feeling he’d had when he thought he lost Bucky from the train.

Steve hunched over with his head in his hands.

When he had gathered himself, he raised his head and looked back at the painting in misery. But then, he found himself frozen as his eyes widened, awestruck. Tony’s painted smirk was no longer there. The devilishly happy expression had dropped to one of sorrow. Even the eyes expressed sadness.

Steve moved closer, stunned, particularly when he noticed what looked like the track marks of tears on the man’s cheeks. But aside from the changed expression, there was something else just as troubling. Something about the depiction read as more realistic than it had when he first finished it. Steve had considered himself a good enough artist capable of capturing realism, but not in the way the painting appeared now. It was eerie. He couldn’t shake how lifelike the flesh looked when he was certain it hadn’t looked that way before.

“Wha...T-tony?" He raised a finger to touch it.

“Mr. Rogers, sorry to interrupt, but Ms. Potts has arrived.”

Steve dropped the finger and moved back.

“Oh, okay.” 

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, deciding his misery was making him see things. So he turned and quickly left, barely giving the painting a backwards glance. 

Steve had avoided returning to the studio, but he couldn’t shake the illusion he’d seen on the canvas. A little tv watching helped clear his mind, but then it worsened when Pepper entered the room. There wasn’t much joy in her mood, considering what was happening with Tony, but she did manage to compliment the work she’d seen upon visiting his studio.

“Looks just like him. You did a great job.”

“Oh, thanks.”

A sad silence hung in the air momentarily before Pepper continued.

“I think Tony will like it if he…” She stopped herself and Steve shifted uncomfortably and looked away. “But I am curious about something.”

“Oh, what?”

“Why did you paint him looking so sad?”

Steve jolted and stared at her, but said nothing. 

 

Steve was quite reluctant to return to the studio, but he did the next morning. Again he found himself staring in shock. Tony was expressing desperation now, and was facing forward in the chair, hands gripping the edges and appearing to lean forward. The effect was surreal and made him appear as if he was about to lean right out of the painting.

“What’s going on?” Steve gasped as he stumbled backwards. “JARVIS!”

“Yes Mr. Rogers?”

“Has anyone, messed with this painting?”

“No sir.”

“Have you noticed anything…weird happening with it?”

“No sir.”

“What the hell is going on?”

Steve kept stepping backwards, feeling quite terrified. He shook his head at it.

“No…no…this is…I’m just tired, that’s all. Just tired.”

He looked around and grabbed a sheet which he tossed over the painting, hiding the unexplained changes from view. What it didn’t hide was the feeling that he wasn’t alone, and that feeling unnerved him to the point where he had to turn and flee before any more unexplained phenomenon occurred.


	9. Chapter 9

It was several days before Steve went back to the studio. Never had he been so stressed and panicked when before it had always been a relaxing environment. The painting was still covered and Steve just wanted it to stay that way but he knew it couldn’t. He just had to know if what he was seeing was somehow real.

With much hesitation and a shaky hand, he stepped forward. He took a deep breath before pulling away the sheet. Tony wasn’t leaning forward. Instead he was turned sideways in his chair, head hung with a hand resting on his cheek, and eyes closed in pain.

“Tony.” 

He didn’t know what made him say it, but he was highly expecting the painted figure to turn and look at him.

After minutes of staring, nothing happened. Tony remained in a position he didn’t create, and it still rattled his nerves.

“JARVIS?”

“Mr. Rogers.”

“Can I see surveillance of the studio?”

“My apologies but only Mr. Stark has access to all surveillance within the building. However, I can assure you no one has accessed this room without your permission.”

“It’s not about if anyone accessed it, it’s…just…this painting. I don’t understand. Tony…”

He didn’t receive a response from the A.I, which left him to believe it was really all in his head.

 

Later he returned to the studio accompanied by Clint. He’d simply told him he wanted him to view the painting again, but didn’t explain why. Tony was still seated sideways, but his head was facing forward, much in the way he originally painted him. The eyes were opened, but expressing sorrow, and he was tight lipped. It was a subtle difference from the image Clint had seen, but a huge difference from the last positions Steve had witnessed.

“I don’t get it. What do you want me to see?” Clint had asked.

Steve rambled like a madman about what he’d seen while Clint just looked stunned and a little worried. By the time he finished, he knew he didn’t believe him. 

“Cap, I think you need a little break,” he said while patting his shoulder.

Steve looked at the painting only to see Tony staring right at him. The feeling that there was a third member among them, and that the third member was actually Tony, chilled him to the bone. Steve wordlessly turned and left the studio.

Steve noticed it appeared to become some kind of pattern. Tony appeared to make more dramatic poses when he alone was present. If another was with him, Tony was more or less in the normal seated position. Steve didn’t quite understand the reason, but the idea that artists gave life to their works kept coming back to him. Such a thought made him wonder if the canvas was really some high tech illusion created to give motion to art. 

He disregarded such an idea quickly enough because it didn’t make any sense. Besides that, there was still the ominous feeling that the actual Tony was somehow present. Something tingled on the back of his neck raising the hairs. Some silent whisper or breath seemed to come through. For such reasons, Steve tried to spend as little time as possible in his studio. 

Visiting the real Tony in the hospital never helped, but he preferred it over visiting the false one. He always felt guilty as he sat in the chair next to the bed, not knowing what to say. Eventually he’d start talking about the going-ons in their lives, but he wasn’t sure if he believed Tony could hear him in his comatose state. From what he could see, Tony was getting worse. He was always paler and deader looking than the previous times he’d visit. It made Steve sick to his stomach. 

The one thing Steve never shared with Tony, was the going-ons with the painting. There were moments he started to, but he always stopped himself and shifted to another subject.

 

Steve didn’t consider returning to the art store until he saw Tony, standing before the chair in his canvas, fists balled, staring right at him with a look of great determination. Much of the time it had expressed pain or sadness. Such a sight, for once didn’t frightened Steve. It inspired something else.

Steve took a few steps forward, when before he dared never to get too close. He looked into Tony’s face as the strange silent whisper stirred in the room. 

“I can’t be crazy,” he muttered to himself. “Something’s happening, isn’t it? Somehow…you’re…I mean…”

He didn’t know if he was talking to himself, a couple of strokes of paint, or Tony himself. He raised his finger to touch the canvas at last, resting a finger on a painted cheek. Though Tony looked so real, it still felt like paint coating fabric.

Steve dropped his hand and stepped away, feeling uncertain.

“I gotta know, the man who sold me the paint.”

Steve marched out of the studio, feeling just as determined. 

Had he looked back at the painting, he would have seen the spark of hope flashing in Tony’s eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

His last hope for answers, was all riding on what he could receive from the man in the art store. He pinned all his hope on the idea that the man could prove he wasn’t crazy. When he entered, he practically ran toward the counter, but came to a quick halt upon seeing an unfamiliar teen behind it. 

“Can I help you?”

“Ah, there was a man, an older man, I don’t know his name, but he sold me some oils. I need to speak to him.”

“Oh, well my father bought the store from him.”

“Is there a way for me to contact him? It’s important.”

“I’m sorry but we can’t hand out that information.”

Steve moved away from him and headed for the aisle where he’d gotten the supplies. They were gone. He looked up at the wall and noticed the lifelike vibrant paintings were still hanging there, and every eye was upon him. Steve felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, feeling that somehow the figures in the painting knew what was happening. Some of the figures even looked at him with pity. 

“Sir?”

Steve turned to see the teen’s possible father walking up to him with a card in his hand.

“It’s the only contact information we have. But if you have a question about our products, I’m sure I can help you.”

Steve took the card and saw a phone number. He looked at the shelf that had previously housed the supplies he purchased.

“He sold me some oils, and a canvas. When I used them, something, something weird is going on. It’s like…” He didn’t know how to express his problem, especially since the man was giving him a look of confusion. “The paintings up there, have you ever noticed anything strange about them? Like one moment they’re in one pose, and then later, it changed?”

The man seemed surprised, then he glanced up at the paintings.

“I think maybe you need to seek some help. Sounds like the fumes of the paints have gotten to you.”

 

Steve did leave, but stood outside the store and called the number. 

There was no answer.

He tried again when he returned home, but there was still no response.  
He contacted the art store, demanding a number that worked, but he was given nothing else. He had realized before that it would be useless, so with a heavy heart and a twisting stomach, he returned to the studio a few days later feeling like the world’s greatest failure.

Tony was sitting forward in the chair, gripping the armrests, staring straight at him, with tears running down his cheeks. Perhaps the painted figure had heard him yelling and pleading on the phone for help.

“I’m sorry Tony,” Steve muttered. “I still don’t, understand what’s going on, but, I’m sorry.” 

Steve approached the painting and ran a hand along the canvas. He wasn’t sure what to think anymore.

“Maybe…I am crazy.”

“Steve?”

He turned to see Clint at the door.

“They think Tony’s getting worse.”

 

Tony was getting worse by the look of it. He lacked almost all color in his skin when Steve went to visit again. Even his dark brown eyes had gone scarily pale. His hair was brittle and becoming white. His body was hard to the touch and everyone who saw him was sure they were looking at a corpse that barely looked like Tony anymore. 

“Is he…even alive?” Steve had asked.

“His heart’s still beating…but barely,” Natasha said sadly.

From then on, Steve turned to blaming the painting for stealing his friend away. He returned to the studio, enraged, grabbed the canvas and threw it across the room. 

“You’re not Tony…you can’t be…you’re killing him!”

The Tony in the painting appeared to pale and looked scared. Steve blinked back tears as he stared into the man’s frightened face.

Steve wiped his face and stumbled back into the chair. He didn’t know how to feel anymore. He was scared to deduce anything about the phenomenon.

When he had gathered himself, he took the brushes, the oils, and everything that he had gotten from the art store and put them in a trash bag. He looked at the supplies he’d always worked with and wondered if they should be trashed as well.

He wondered if he should be an artist at all anymore.


	11. Chapter 11

Steve didn’t pick up a paint brush. He’d gotten rid of the mysterious oil set even though he was very uncertain about why he was doing so. For the acrylics he already possessed, he locked them away out of sight. 

He didn’t have his studio anymore. He'd abandoned it as well as the tower and returned to his apartment. It was just too depressing to live under Tony's home when Tony himself was no longer there. Besides that, Steve felt he didn't have the right to stay. 

Such a thing made it harder for the team to fight together, but when they had to, they did.

Steve didn’t visit art galleries. He barely bothered to sketch anymore. Whenever he did, his thoughts went to Tony’s infamous painting. He learned from those still occupying the tower that Pepper had hung the painting in the living room. She had been hesitant to do so, feeling the painting would only create a grim atmosphere. According to Clint, Rhodey, and eventually Natasha, the painting had inspired a disturbance in the air that had nothing to do with the fact that it was a reminder of Tony being gone. The three had even sworn it was playing tricks on their eyes, because Tony would be facing one way, expressing a certain emotion, only to change when they looked again.

“Maybe, it’s the fumes of the oils,” Clint had tried.

“That painting’s long dried,” Steve had told him over the phone. “Got another explanation for it?”

Clint’s brief silence told him he didn’t.

“Either way, Pepper doesn’t want it destroyed. And you can’t prove anything.”

“No,” Steve admitted sadly, “I can’t.”

 

There were more people who believed the painting was beautiful, while the few on the team leaned on the side that it was creepy. If anyone outside the team had noticed the changes in poses or emotions, they hadn’t bothered to outright say it. Instead, the painting’s existence was discussed between a close few. 

As part of Pepper’s wishes, it wasn’t revealed to the media. It wasn’t big news anyhow. Stark had a painting made of himself. Such a thing would surprise no one. The alluring feature of course would be the various tales of it being supernatural. When a point came that it was all that was talked about, Pepper stood before the painting for a full hour, staring into Tony’s eyes, begging for a sign that they were right; that the painted Tony possessed life in some way.

Sadly he hadn’t moved before her.

She walked away then, disappointed. She returned later and gasped when she looked up and noticed the painted tears on Tony’s cheeks.

It was hard to reason that it could actually be him when the real Tony was still hanging by a thread in the hospital. Soon she found herself blaming the canvas for his condition yet she never harmed it. She considered hiding it away as the disturbing nature of it began to affect her as well, but a day came that prevented such an action.

Tony had been on oxygen at the time, but it did not save him in the end. 

 

After the grief and tears had passed, Steve returned to the tower. He stood before the painting, staring at the false Tony with hollow eyes and looking quite pale. Tony was staring right at him, dark eyes appearing to be more lifelike than he’d ever seen.

When Pepper asked if he was alright, he gave a quiet, horrified response.

“He’s in there…he’s gotta be. I…I feel like, I can hear him…somehow.”

Pepper too stared at the painting, but heard nothing. If anything, there was the impression that it had become more vibrant in color. 

“Steve, why don’t you get some rest.”

“No…I…”

But in the end, he relented. He stumbled back muttering about how he was going to fix this while Pepper sadly watched. She turned her attention to the painting once more.

“I miss you Tony…so much.”

Slowly she walked away, unaware that Tony was truly watching and wishing he could cry out; wishing he could truly reach out and touch someone. 

Instead, there was the high chance he would become a creepy internet ghost story; something that wasn't to be believed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed :)

**Author's Note:**

> Review and be sure to tune in for more :)


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